


The Melting, the Spark, and the Suffocation

by btBatt



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, OT3, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, everyone's protecting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/btBatt/pseuds/btBatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, Bucky,” he said, clapping his hands. “You ready to change the lives of asthmatic little punks everywhere?” Bucky sent a skeptical look Steve’s way.</p><p>“It seems to be my calling in life,” he said. Steve just smiled. He looked a little like he was having a moment, one of his oh-my-God-I-have-Bucky-back moments, so Tony smiled too.</p><p>“There are worse things,” Tony mused.</p><p>“Hear, hear,” Natasha said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totallynotagingeratall](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=totallynotagingeratall).



> Written for totallynotagingeratall on tumblr. For the prompt: "I would really like it if Steve and Bucky were super like possesive and dominate over Tony."
> 
> This will contain the first part of the prompt at least. Might have to make it a mini series though.

Bucky, Tony had to admit, was doing a phenomenal job integrating with the team. He didn’t want to use the term _reclaiming his humanity_ , but that’s pretty much exactly what he’d done. From the very moment they all settled under a single roof, Bucky’d been doing what Tony’s therapist would call adjusting (or maybe she’d call this one _coping_ —whatever, he was dealing with his shit and it hardly mattered what a therapist would call it because it was awesome and good and progress). The kid had kept to himself right away, which was understandable. Tony was just kind of impressed he hadn’t gone running for the hills. Although, it made Tony twitchy to know Bucky was in the tower somewhere and he couldn’t help the poor guy, didn’t even know where to start. 

On top of that, Steve had withdrawn just enough to fray his nerves down to razor edges. Not that he didn’t see Steve anymore—he still made dinner once a week and turned up to movie night religiously and went for runs and everything else that’s polite, but he’d stopped sitting in the common room for hours on end just to talk to whoever passed through. He’d stopped coming down to the workshop just to draw or bask in the holo-display or whatever it was he usually did. Tony was well and truly shocked the second night they were all back together when JARVIS informed him he’d pulled an all-nighter.

It was after Tony’s second unwitting all-nighter that Bucky finally showed up to populated space. Tony had just been ghosting through for a piece of fruit and was feeling pretty content with the idea of getting some shuteye when Bruce reeled him in with promises of omelettes and bacon and smoothies. Tony relented, mostly because someone set coffee down in front of him, and partly because it had been about twelve hours since he’d eaten anything.

“He lives!” Tony had said that first morning, nearly three weeks after Bucky’s arrival and Steve’s return. It was almost ten in the morning and, if the strangled silence that overtook the room was anything to go by, the first time any of them had seen proof of Bucky since he’d assumedly moved in. Bucky’s eyes cut to him and stayed there, level and eerie, and Tony felt a thrill of fear and an awareness for his own mortality the likes of which he should’ve been used to by then. Never one to be deterred by self-preservation (and always one to spit in fear’s face), he widened his grin and plowed on. “I’ll have you know, my doe-eyed Buckster, dear, I’d half formulated a rescue mission. I didn’t think Steve was ever gonna untie you from the bed, but I figured you two deserved the a bit of a honeymoon phase before the cavalry rolled up.”

Steve stood up so fast that his chair shot a good four feet backwards, grinding terribly across the floor the whole way. His face was just the tiniest bit red, and Tony had made Captain America blush—seriously, Tony could die now knowing he’d lived an accomplished life, this was his legacy—and his eyes were darting between Tony and Bucky like he couldn’t decide if strangling Iron Man was more or less urgent than comforting the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s eyes didn’t stray from Tony’s face. Tony, for half of a godforsaken, regretful moment, actually thought he was about to be murdered in his own home, wearing nothing but his softest sweatpants and an undershirt, but then Bucky smirked, more amused and wicked than predatory, and Tony felt his smile melt into something a tiny bit less frantic.

“Who do you think’s tyin’ who to the bed in this relationship, Stark?”

“Oh, Lord,” Steve said, utterly horrified as Tony barked in laughter. Natasha muttered something in Russian that made Bucky chuckle, and even as Steve fled the kitchen, Tony was making plans in his head to learn at least a bit of the language.

Steve had turned out to be more scared of the prospect of Tony and Bucky getting along than the idea of his and Bucky’s questionable sex life being broadcast to the team. Not that they had a questionable sex life; Tony was sure that if they had a sex life it was a healthy, not-at-all-boring one. He just wasn’t yet sure if there was a sex life at all. Yet. He was sure they would have a sex life eventually and that at some point he was bound to find out about it, and he prided himself on knowing these kinds of things.

Tony and Bucky, in fact, got along like a house on fire. At first, it was all banter and an unspoken competition to see who could get Steve to blush the hardest—which is harder than it sounds. The man might’ve been fair-skinned, but Mr. Peak of Human Perfection didn’t have the most visceral reactions. Approximately two weeks after meeting him, Tony learned that if someone can run for five hours without getting red in the face, they can probably take some embarrassment without blushing too. The disappointment had been crushing, but he’d nearly accepted the fact before Bucky came along. It was easier to get a rise out of Steve with someone around to spill all the juiciest details of his adolescent misadventures.

Tony would feel bad about the uneven playing field if his most humiliating moments weren’t all catalogued in the archives of popular media for the entire world to point and laugh at.

Despite their combined best effort, the spell broke. The spell always breaks, the shine always leaves, the charm always melts or ignites. Tony was quite used to the spark. Hell, he and Steve sent sparks flying within the first twenty minutes of meeting. Mostly now they just simmered, warm and slow, and Tony wasn’t quite sure how he got that lucky.

Bucky, surprisingly, elicited a melting response. From that first interaction, they met each other with fire and quick tongues, all facade and bravado when they spoke. But suddenly it was nighttime and nobody else was awake and Steve was off on this recon thing in Mexico and Tony found Bucky in a limp ball on the couch, and there was no fire to be had. Bucky said, “JARVIS said this is where people go when they can’t sleep, so I came here,” and it was all so quiet and his throat sounded scorched.

“Can I sit with you?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky said on an exhale. Tony did, right next to Bucky’s head, but when he put knuckles against the back of Bucky’s neck, the man curled in on himself some more.

“Sorry,” Tony said.

“No,” Bucky said, and Tony was about to ask what he was saying no to when Bucky just groaned and flopped over onto his back. It was dramatic and expressive and Tony had to smile, just a little. Bucky was actually very good at displaying his feelings clearly in action—he glared and gave tiny smiles and smirks and huffs. It rarely meant he felt that strongly, but physical displays were easier than words, and Tony got it. The hardest thing for Bucky was to talk, and specifically to ask. Tony got that too. When Bucky settled back onto the cushions, his head in Tony’s lap, he decided not to voice his question.

“Why are you awake?” Bucky asked. He sounded cranky but curious and his voice was also good at that whenever he does talk.Tony could usually detect the undertones of what Bucky was saying, and it put Tony at ease. Call him a scientist, but he liked to know things. Machines are easier, and he didn’t want to be comparing Bucky to a machine, but he was a person who hadn’t yet relearned the art of continuous casual deception. It was a nice change of pace.

The clock on the cable box told him it was 3:54AM and Tony decided it was a fair enough question. Bucky kept his head perfectly still when Tony tucked his fingers in and rubbed.

“I finally caught up with Spiderman long enough to get his notes from him,” Tony said. “All the stuff on his webs—which isn’t all that time-sensitive, but he also gave me some samples. It deteriorates after a few hours.”

“Suddenly interested in mutant biology?” Bucky asked. His eyes were closed now but he raised an eyebrow anyway.

“That shit’s an engineering miracle,” he said. But since he was feeling incredibly honest here with his fingers slowly working through the tangles in Bucky’s hair, he also said, “It’s flexible and strong and if I could just make it not disintegrate, then there’s gotta be some way to work with it. Could just be another Dyneema, but I can tell after only a few hours with the stuff that it’s not.”

“You wanna use it in armor,” Bucky said. Tony nodded; Bucky’s eyes were open again.

“Maybe make Clint a bowstring with the stuff. Ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene is nice, but it’s honestly a mouthful and obviously not perfect—I mean, people keep dying on us. There has to be something better.”

Tony was thinking about the Avengers and about Afghanistan and all the soldiers who’d gotten shot because of him because he made them fan-fucking-tastic weapons but hadn’t done half as much work as he should’ve on actually keeping them safe, and he looked down when he felt Bucky shifting. He looked concerned with his eyebrows pulled together like that, and maybe Tony should have shut the fuck up, but of course he shouldn’t have because that would really be showing his hand.

“If nobody’s in here, you know you can always come and wake one of us up,” he sad in lieu of shutting up. “We didn’t take this gig because we’re particularly picky about our beauty sleep.”

After a couple of seconds, Bucky closed his eyes again and said, “You too, Tony.”

Tony did shut up then. His heart twisted just the tiniest bit next to the arc reactor. He recalled the first time each of the Avengers called him by his first name—eidetic memory and all that, plus the fact that it was always a personal victory to get someone to even think of him as anything but Stark—but Bucky was laying in his lap, relaxed and—melted, Tony thought. Bucky’d melted here, and Tony’s spine was curving loosely against the back of the couch and he was completely unafraid of the Winter Soldier, of the man-made-weapon. He felt content and not quite terrified of that fact. Instead, he set to work untangling Bucky’s hair and anticipated the terror of vulnerability he was bound to feel when he the sun came up.

(It didn’t come. The first thing Tony was aware of was the smell of coffee, and when he opened his eyes, Bucky was literally holding a steaming mug under his nose, black with sugar, and Tony was too grateful to be terrified—at least until he could properly caffeinate.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super cool things you can do if you like this: follow me on tumblr (batterology.tumblr.com), send me fic requests if you feel so obliged or just talk to me, comment/critique this story/grammar/characterization/anything. Thank you!

Still, there were months of rehab and therapy (read: nightmares and beating the shit out of animate and inanimate things alike) before anyone even started thinking of things like PR or appearances or image. Once they did start talking, Tony though they wouldn’t ever shut up about it.

For all that Bucky was adjusting, so was Steve. He held on too tightly sometimes in a desperate death grip that only reminded Tony that this man lost literally everything and everyone he cared about within a few short years. Bucky started coming to Tony after nightmares or when he couldn’t sleep. It had been giving both Steve and Bucky some breathing room and, consequently, the less Steve worried, the less he hovered, and the better Bucky slept. With everything evening out and Steve able to focus on external life again, he started coming back down to the workshop again. Tony’d like to say he pouted about how long it took, but the second Steve settled onto the couch with a book, he’d smiled in this really soft way. Instead of being a dick about it, Tony announced Steve’s presence to the bots, and Dum-E made a welcome-back-please-don’t-leave-again smoothie with a bendy straw and everything.

Bucky had finally picked the event he wanted to do first from the list of over fifty options the PR team gave him. He was pretty good now at opinions and questions—better, anyway. He’d become the designated tie-breaker because he did best when presented with two or three options. Anymore, when the team wanted to go out, everyone suggested what they wanted and then Bucky decided. A list full of dozens of choices had taken almost a month. Tony suspected he either asked Nat to choose or picked one at random. It was a good choice, Tony thought. A charity auction. There would be some media people outside to ask them about the cause, then maybe an hour of mingling and cocktails before the auction began and the socialization was over.

Steve was going too, of course, and so was Tony, because out of everyone they were the most used to reporters and photographers. Natasha had taken one look at them, Steve with his grim determination and Tony with his easy smile, and declared that they were going to get themselves killed. Most PR and civilian-filled events were maxed out at two Avengers. Any more than that and they ran the risk of attracting danger. So, naturally, Natasha was coming too, more as a security detail than a guest, she’d assured them.

And so Natasha had called Pepper, and the two of them had stolen Bucky for the afternoon, running him around, picking up his finally finished suit and effectively distracting him. Steve, on the other hand, had taken up a restless occupancy in the workshop, pacing back and forth, Dum-E trailing behind like a puppy.

“You’re making him nervous,” Tony said.

“What?” Steve said. He halted so suddenly Dum-E caught up with him enough to grab his shirt with a claw and start tugging insistently. “Oh.” He reached out a hand and tapped the pressure sensor where Dum-E’s support strut joins the arm. “Sorry, we’re fine, Dummy. Sorry.”

“Oh, God, don’t coddle him,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “He’ll become insufferable, he’ll become spoiled, he’ll be just like me, Rogers, is that what you want?”

“Heavens, no,” he said, mouth turning up into a nervous smile. “The world wouldn’t be able to cope.”

“You got that right,” Tony said. “Dummy, he’s fine, you know he's fine.” Dum-E twirled his claw in Tony’s direction effectively making a low whirring sound—disagreement. “Yeah, yeah, he’s pacing. Steve’s got a lot of energy and not a lot of ways to use it down here. We’re fine. Now shoo. Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, buddy. Get outta here, I know there’s something you could be doing right now. Make yourself useful.”

Dummy turned his camera to Steve and narrowed the aperture of his camera. He rolled closer and very deliberately patted Steve’s arm twice in what they were left to assume was reassurance before rolling away. Tony couldn’t decide whether to be horrified by the absolute magnitude of his bot’s social awkwardness or smile at the affection with which Dum-E treated Steve. Steve looked about as amused as someone who’d just gotten their head pet by the family dog. Tony suppressed his grin.

“You,” he said, “over here.” Steve raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling. “Yeah, you. There actually is something you could be doing down here. C’mon.”

“I can never tell if you’re talking to me or the bot,” Steve said.

“Can’t you hear the difference when I say his name? ‘U’ sounds totally different from ‘you.’ How can you not hear that?” Tony asked.

“It only sounds different to you because it looks different in your head,” Steve said, but he came to stand at Tony’s side anyway. 

Tony paused, halfway through the gesture that would open up a schematic, and tilted his head at Steve.

“What?” Steve said.

“You might not be wrong,” Tony said. “How the hell did you know that?”

“What were you going to show me, Tony?” Steve asked, smiling and looking calmer than he had all afternoon. Tony shrugged.

“If things go well tonight, I thought I might ask Bucky if I can take a look at the arm.”

Steve nodded. There had been something obviously wrong with the prosthetic for about a week now—obvious but not obviously urgent. Steve had mentioned it a couple of times—he could hear it grinding, apparently—and after Tony started watching, he noticed little hitches in the smooth grace of the metal arm. Steve and Tony only talked about it a couple of times, but had mostly been waiting for Bucky to bring it up himself.

“If we get a solid win tonight, he might be more confident about letting me have a look,” Tony said.

“You’re probably right,” Steve said, looking no less relaxed than he had moments ago. Normally, the topic of Bucky’s arm or Hydra dampened his spirits at least some. Tony took a second to acknowledge the improvement to himself, and then inclined his head.

“Exactly,” he said. “He seems to be hitting a stride, which is awesome, and I hope this doesn’t fuck it up.” He finished bringing up the the file as he spoke, and the holo-projection of a metal arm appeared before them. Steve reached out and spun the arm to see it from all sides. His mouth turned down and he settled it on the side view, as they would see it if Bucky were standing in profile.

“Did you design an entirely new arm?” he asked. He reached out as if to touch the upper arm of the projection where the red star was missing, but ended up selecting a panel of plating and zooming them in to the inner mechanics. Steve froze, but Tony just started rummaging around the design, shifting it and pulling at it as he looked it over again.

“Yeah, if he wants it,” he said. “I’m mostly going for a door-in-the-face approach. If I offer this baby up first—and she really is a beauty, Steve, this is art—but! If he does refuse, then he’s statistically more likely to agree to at least letting me take a look at the current arm.”

“Isn’t that a bit,” Steve wrinkled his nose, “manipulative?”

“Nah,” Tony said, flicking both of his wrists toward himself and bringing them back to an overview. “I really do want to make the new arm for him. Eventually. I figure the sooner I start badgering him, the sooner he’ll cave and let me make it.”

“It looks incredible, Tony, thanks,” Steve said warmly.

“My pleasure,” Tony said, and he meant it.

“We’re going to be fine tonight,” Steve said quietly, staring resolutely at the projection.

“Of course we are,” Tony said, matching the tone. Steve looked at him. Tony opened his mouth to continue what was sure to have been an inspiring speech for the history books when his focus shifted and his voice rose to say, “Dummy! That’s not what I meant!”

Dum-E, of course, listened to him about as well as ever, and jabbed Steve’s arm with the tennis ball he’d found. Steve’s mouth twisted in the distinct way it did whenever he was trying to avoid laughing at someone, and he held his hand out for Dum-E to drop the ball into.

“Are you trying to help me use up my energy, Dummy?” Steve asked, his voice practically shaking with laughter. Tony rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling when Dum-E nodded happily. The bot really did get thrilled when people other than Tony understood him. Steve hummed and looked at Tony, eyes full of mischief, before he declared, “Keep away!” and proceeded to toss the ball to Dum-E. Tony squawked and scrambled to get between them and intercept the ball.

He did, eventually, with Butterfinger’s help. Tony totally had a new favorite kid. And it had the added bonus of keeping Steve sufficiently distracted until Pepper swept into the workshop to ask them why in God’s name they weren’t dressed and ready to go yet. Tony laughed as Steve stuttered through his apology and called Pepper “ma’am” and Tony kept laughing as Steve pulled him to the elevator.

-

An hour later, they were piling into the limo with Bucky (who looked fucking fantastic in a suit, still moved soundlessly even in his new, ridiculously expensive shoes, and had his hair slicked back out of his face) and Natasha (who was wearing an emerald dress that set off the fiery color of her hair and made her even more stunning than usual). Steve and Tony had both speed showered and gotten into their suits in record time. The mixture of suits—Tony’s first armor—and friends around him made Tony happy. He felt safe. When Happy met his eyes in the rearview mirror, he looked pleased.

“Boss,” he said with a grin.

“Happy,” Tony replied. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” he said, eyes already back on the road.

Happy Hogan was a breath of fresh air. He’d followed Pepper back out to Malibu after she and Tony had put their relationship “on hold.” Of course, there were other people on his payroll qualified to drive him around, but he’d taken to mostly just driving himself. Happy was the only person Tony trusted enough to be able to let his guard down, and he settled into the familiar, decade-long feeling of trusting Happy. Steve and Bucky were across from him, and Natasha was close enough to share heat.

“So, Bucky,” he said, clapping his hands. “You ready to change the lives of asthmatic little punks everywhere?” Bucky sent a skeptical look Steve’s way.

“It seems to be my calling in life,” he said. Steve just smiled. He looked a little like he was having a moment, one of his oh-my-God-I-have-Bucky-back moments, so Tony smiled too.

“There are worse things,” Tony mused.

“Hear, hear,” Natasha said.

It took no more than half an hour to pull up in front of the hotel. There wasn't any kind of red carpet, just a few velvet ropes and a short walk to the building. There was a moderate sprinkling of photographers and journalists between them and the door. Less than a cancer charity, but not by much. While Bucky’s appearance was supposed to have been a surprise, it looked like someone had caught their scent.

“I told you they were taking pictures of us earlier,” Bucky said. He looked a little green.

“Of course they were,” Natasha said. Bucky looked at her sharply as Happy held the door open for them. “Oh, stop,” she said as she stepped out into the shuttering lights of the cameras. “You would’ve just worried about it all afternoon.”

Steve suddenly looked panicked too, but he was shocked enough that he followed Natasha out when Tony gestured for him to go first. Tony picked the sunglasses off the top of his own head and turned back to Bucky, trying to telegraph his movements clearly before slipping them onto his nose.

“That any better?” Tony asked quickly.

“Sure,” Bucky said breathily. Tony snorted.

“Yeah, alright. Good enough,” he said and climbed out, grinning into the flashing lights. Natasha had her arm in Steve’s and they’d gotten caught by a reporter a few yards ahead. Tony stayed by the limo door until Bucky came out. Tony slid his arm into Bucky’s the way Natasha had with Steve, and they started forward. Bucky looked more confident and less like he was going to pass out behind the partial mask of the shades. Tony made sure to steer them towards the little Flannigan girl from Channel 4 and they were back on track. Bucky made three jokes, made Steve blush, and all Tony had to do was stand there and look pretty. It was kind of a nice change.

As soon as they were through the doors, Bucky slipped the sunglasses into Tony’s breast pocket.

“Thanks,” he said, a little surprise coloring his voice, “that actually helped.”

“I have done this once or twice before, you know,” Tony told him.

“Coulda fooled me,” Bucky said.

While Tony huffed in totally righteous indignation, Natasha slipped away for a perimeter check.

“And then there were three,” Steve said cheerfully.

Tony rolled his eyes and gathered one supersoldier on each arm. He cast his eye around the room for a safe direction and stopped short. There’s no way to hide a flinch when arm-in-arm-in-arm, and Bucky froze up the moment he felt it. Steve looked over at the both of them, confused and on alert.

“Tony?” Steve asked at the exact moment Tiberius Stone turned and met Tony’s eyes.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Tony murmured, megawatt smile already in place as Stone strode over. There was no escaping it now. Steve followed his gaze and landed on the man approaching, though he didn’t seem to recognize Tiberius, for which Tony was grateful. Bucky still felt like stone at his side, but Tony couldn’t really do anything much for it at the moment.

“Ty!” he called as soon as the man was close enough.

“Tony Stark,” Stone said. He pulled Tony into a hug. Steve disentangled himself, but Tony’s other arm bent at a painful angle when Bucky was too slow to pull away. Tony made himself hug the man back. “It’s been too long.”

“I didn’t even know you were back stateside,” Tony said, voice light. He could feel Steve’s worried gaze and Bucky’s assessing one, and he set his teeth. This was unpleasant, but nobody needed to walk away with broken bones.

“Well,” Ty said, grinning over Tony’s shoulder, “I couldn’t let you have our great country all to yourself. You’ve been slacking, Stark.”

“Over your dead body, Stone,” he countered automatically, words he’d said dozens of times falling easily from his mouth.

“Not quite yet,” Ty said, looking pleased. He met Steve’s eyes again when he said, “Tony’s always been competitive. Sometimes I think he needs me around to get any work done at all.”

Tony scoffed out loud and wished he had his sunglasses on, even if they were inside and it was evening. Steve stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, and Ty finally let go of Tony to shake Steve’s hand.

“Captain America in the flesh,” Ty said in wonder. “Tiberius Stone. It’s an honor.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stone,” Steve said politely. Ty’s grin grew and he looked back and forth between Tony and Steve.

“Ah, Tony! I think I should be insulted. I daresay you have a type.” Ty laughed and Tony felt his blood turn to ice. Ty’s blond hair was a little longer than Steve’s, his eyes a little less blue, but the muscle was there and so was the competence. Steve blinked a couple of times and bile rose in Tony’s throat, and he swallowed it down as he chuckled. Ty raised his eyebrows and rocked onto the balls of his feet in faux discretion as he said, “I wish I could say Howard would be proud to see you like this, but I think he’d mostly be jealous, if you know what I mean.”

That was just Stone’s way in public, Tony knew. He could get away with saying anything as ridiculous or downright mean as he wanted as long as he did it with that smile. As long as he wrapped up the bomb with a pretty enough bow, nobody could call him on it without sounding like an idiot. Tony was intimately familiar with this feeling, and so he smiled again.

“Tall, blond, and gorgeous is everyone’s type,” Tony said. A faint grinding sound came from behind him, and when Tony turned, Bucky had his metal hand clenched tight enough that even he could hear the noise. Ty’s eyebrows settled in a truly inquisitive position, and he stepped forward again. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” he said, face schooled into a solemn mask. “It’s an honor.”

Instead of holding out his hand to Bucky, Ty reached down and tried to pick up the metal hand, which was still balled into a fist. It didn’t budge, and Ty gave up after a moment.

“The pleasure’s all yours,” Bucky drawled. Steve and Tony breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief. Ty hummed again as he slid back to Tony and slung an arm heavily across his back, one hand settling on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. It was so possessive, so controlling. so Obie, so everything Ty and Tony had had together back in the day, that he wanted to be sick. He wanted this gone.

Not yet, he told himself. Graceful extraction first, then clawing his own skin off. Because he was a Stark and that was just the order of operations here.

Ty tugged him around until they were facing the others. Steve was standing in front of Ty, and Tony was looking right at Bucky.

“It’s just like looking into a mirror!” Ty said. “The looking glass sure is a strange place.”

Steve looked like a man ready for war, and Bucky looked slightly like a murderous statue, and Tony really couldn’t help but laugh in that moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the hysterics catching up with him or if he was almost amused by the fucked up allusion and the dreamlike memories they conjured.

“Don’t even start that, Caesar,” Tony said.

“O Antony,” Ty said, a little too close to Tony’s ear, “I’m not the one who started it.”

Tony shivered underneath Ty’s arm and cursed himself seven ways to Sunday, but apparently that was enough of an invitation for Steve to engage the enemy, because he took a step forward. Tony got a mental image of Captain America clocking Tiberius Stone like Hitler in an ISO show, and a laugh lodged itself in his throat. Before Steve could take the second step, Natasha cut in front of him to stand in front of Tony, a drink in one hand and phone in the other.

“Mr. Stark,” she said, frowning, “Ms. Potts has been trying to get ahold of you for twenty minutes. Where’s your phone? I know Happy gave it to you in the car.”

“Natalie,” Tony said, because that was who this was. “It must still be on silent.”

There was an actual story to go with that claim about how the last time his phone had gone off while he was talking about a charity function to the media, his ringtone had still been a Christina Aguilera song, which had simultaneously amused everyone and no one, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Sure,” Natasha said in her best unamused PA voice. It was pretty convincing. Then she put the phone to Tony’s ear and he just barely caught it. “Go talk to her,” Natasha told him.

“Ms. Potts,” Tony said into the phone as Natasha pushed him toward the back door.

“Tony?” Pepper said. “Tony, what’s going on?”

“I don’t—” A hand pressed against the small of Tony’s back and his breath caught. He knew it wasn’t a flesh-and-blood hand almost immediately, but he couldn’t stop the way his body jerked.

“Just me,” Bucky said quietly, guiding them further toward the door. Tony twisted around just enough to get a glimpse of Steve, Natasha, and Ty all standing in a triangle, Natasha angled to jump between them if she had to.

“Tony?” Pepper sounded alarmed.

“God, fuck me,” Tony muttered between gasps as the cool night air on the balcony finally hit him. “Fucking—how did I not realize Stane was going to try and kill me sooner, Pep?” He laughed a little, but he couldn’t really catch his breath, so it sounded funny. “I mean—Stane and Stone, right? Only one letter apart, but I guess Stark isn’t that far off from either of ‘em, is it?” He laughed again.

Bucky took the phone then, and Tony slid to the ground. He heard Bucky’s voice say “Tiberius Stone” and then Pepper’s angry voice cut the night sky, even through the phone, and Tony tuned it out. He clenched his stomach muscles, tried to make himself gag, but nothing would come up. Whatever dignity he had left wouldn’t let him stick his fingers down his throat, at least not on the balcony, not with Bucky here, but goddamn if it wasn’t frustrating him to near tears.

“Tony,” Bucky said insistently. Tony was pretty sure it wasn’t the first time he’d said Tony’s name.

“Hey, Bucky,” he said. He sounded wrecked, but breathing was a bit easier now.

“You okay?”

“I would honestly feel so much better if I could just puke,” Tony said. Bucky nodded like that was completely reasonable.

“I feel that way sometimes,” he said contemplatively, “especially when I remember something real ugly ‘bout what happened or what they made me do.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered. God, fuck, no, the last thing he wanted on Earth was to make Bucky think that his involuntary servitude to Hydra was even comparable to Tony’s beef with Tiberius Stone, _fuck._

“Tony,” Bucky said, low and comforting. “Tony, c’mon, breathe for me, ‘kay?”

Tony made a distressed noise because fuck, okay, he’d already gotten his breathing under control. What happened?

“Shh, hey, c’mere for a second, Tony,” Bucky said, putting a hand on Tony’s arm. Tony tried to go where Bucky directed him, but he was too tense to really follow subtle guiding nudges. Bucky eventually gave up and gently manhandled them into the position he wanted. Bucky’s back was against the balcony’s door so no one else could come out. His legs were spread and Tony was between them, reclined against Bucky’s torso. One of Bucky’s hands rested on Tony’s forehead, keeping him from curling in on himself, and the other was on his stomach, and Tony was suddenly hyperaware of each breath he took as his stomach rose and fell and bumped into Bucky’s hand.  
 “I’ve got you,” Bucky said and Tony sobbed once, harshly. “Hey, you with me?”

Tony tried to nod, but Bucky’s hand was still on his head, so he said, “Yeah.”

“Good. Can you do somethin’ for me?” Bucky asked. Tony sobbed again because he couldn’t right now. He wanted to help Bucky; he always wanted that, but he actually didn’t think he could do anything right now. “No, no, hey, I just want you to repeat after me. We’re gonna take ten breaths…nice…deep breaths, and then you’re gonna be fine by the time we reach ten, okay?”

Tony bit back another sob but didn’t say no.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Just repeat after me, a breath for each number.” Bucky drew in a deep breath, his belly expanding against Tony’s spine, and when he exhaled, he said, “One.”

Tony inhaled in stops and starts, and blew out a pathetic, “One,” as he exhaled.

Bucky did the same thing, steadily, slowly, through two, three, and four. “Five,” Bucky said gustily, and when Tony went to copy him, his breath hitched again. “Halfway there, Tony. You’re doing great, just five more, okay?”

“Five,” Tony breathed.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured. “Six,” he exhaled.

“Six,” Tony said, and Bucky started using the hand on Tony’s forehead to smooth back his hair.

“Seven,” Bucky said on his next exhale.

Tony’s next breath was steadier. “Seven,” he said.

“Eight,” Bucky said, and eight was very close to ten, that was only two more breaths, and Tony didn’t think he could honestly have his shit together in the next two breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Eight,” Tony forced out anyway.

“Good job, Tony,” Bucky said. “Just breathe. That’s all we’re doing…Nine.”

Tony inhaled a little too fast, but got nine out okay.

“Last one—ten,” Bucky said.

Tony breathed in as steadily as he could and said, “Ten,” before going limp on top of Bucky. When he realized just how focused he’d been on the stupid breathing task, he thought he should probably be humiliated, but he was too tired at the moment. Breathing was always better than not breathing, and focusing on anything was better than feeling ghost hands on his body.

“Thank you,” Bucky said in his ear solemnly, and he sounded so genuine that Tony decided to believe him for now.

“Fuck,” Tony sighed. Bucky was still brushing his sweaty hair back, and it was nice. “Fucking hate Ty.”

“Me too,” Bucky said quietly, and they lapsed back into silence until the door behind Bucky jarred. The movement catapulted Tony into motion, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees at the corner of the balcony, vomiting onto the ground. The door opened, but he waited until his stomach was empty before looking. Bucky was crouched right behind Tony with the metal hand on Tony’s shoulder, but he was twisted, looking back and talking quietly with Natasha. When she caught him looking, she smiled.

“The auction started,” she said. “Everyone’s moved locations, and we have a clear path out.”

“Better?” Bucky asked him.

“Much,” Tony said. Talking shifted around a chunk of something in his mouth, though, and he had to turn and spit it onto the ground. “Nasty.”

“Y’don’t say?” Bucky said, smiling again.

“Steve’s waiting for us out front,” Natasha said. When Tony just looked at her, she rolled her eyes. “He got kicked out.”

Tony snorted out a laugh and grimaced again at the taste.

“Good,” Bucky said. He looked back at Tony with an eyebrow raised. “You okay to go?”

“Absolutely.”

Bucky helped him up and Tony didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t leaning on him.

“Thanks, Natasha,” he said quietly. She shook her head.

“Tiberius Stone’s got a file at S.H.I.E.L.D., and not an endearing one.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so,” Tony mused. He let his smile dropped before asking, “It mention me?”

“A sentence or two,” she said after a moment. Tony nodded. A quick hack would get rid of even that evidence. Stone had been expunged from Tony’s own file when he’d first gotten wind of the file’s existence, but for some reason he hadn’t even thought to look for Stone’s file.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for talk of past dub-con/rape, depending on how you look at it (technically it was rape, though the narrator considers it dub-con) and also for alcoholism and abusive relationships.

When they made it back outside, Happy was right there with the limo and Steve was pacing the stretch of sidewalk beside it. Bucky handed Tony off to Steve, and Tony went willingly. Steve slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders and pivoted on the ball of his foot, directing Tony to duck into the limo. Tony got in, and Steve followed not a second later, pressed up against his side and with the other arm around his shoulders now.

“Okay?” Steve asked as the others got in.

“Better,” Tony said. Natasha raised an eyebrow and Tony felt Steve’s shoulder rise and fall in a sigh.

“You smell like vomit,” Steve said.

“That was the good part,” Tony told him truthfully. He could practically feel the confusion radiating off of Steve, but before he could answer, Happy was shutting his door and starting the engine. The partition was still open wide because, yeah, okay, it made him and all of his paranoid friends feel better about being driven if they could see the driver, and also because it was Happy, and Tony didn’t get to see Happy half as much as he would like.

“Home, boss?” Happy asked. Tony hummed.

“Milkshakes first,” he decided. Happy nodded and started cranking the wheel.

“Really?” Steve asked, half concerned and half amused.

“My mouth tastes like vomit, Rogers,” Tony reminded him. “And I know that at least you can smell it, and Bucky can probably smell it, and I can taste it, so. Yeah. Milkshakes.”

It took almost forty minutes for Happy to find them milkshakes and drive them back to the tower. Tony definitely wasn’t panicking anymore. Steve’s thumb felt nice where it stroked his arm and the milkshake felt nice on his throat. Mostly, he was alert and calm and very embarrassed over his own reaction. Partly, he was glad he hadn’t made a public scene. An even smaller part of him was truly pissed he hadn’t known Stone would be there at all, but instead of thinking about it too much, he just leaned into Steve and listened to everyone talk quietly.

As they pulled into the garage, Natasha pulled a disappearing act, milkshake and all vanished almost before the car was in park.

“Thanks, Happy,” Tony said, and Steve echoed him. Happy smiled and waved them away as he pulled back out, supposedly to take the limo back to wherever it was limos went and get his own car back. Bucky’s straw made a slurping noise and he paused to shake loose the remains of his shake.

“So,” Bucky said. Tony snorted and Steve smiled even though he was still hovering. 

Tony led them to the elevator and got in. After brief consideration of his mental state and emotional stability, he said, “Penthouse, JARVIS.”

He had Steve and Bucky in his line of sight the whole way up and he logically knew they weren’t sharing glances behind his back, but they somehow gave that impression anyway.

“J,” he said as they reached the top floor, “any ideas on when we stopped keeping tabs on Ty? We should definitely still be keeping tabs on Ty. Like, seriously. That man is apparently not good for my emotional health.”

“Apologies, Sir,” JARVIS said.

“Tony?” Steve said as JARVIS promised to find the hole in their surveillance. The PR team that picked events was supposed to screen for certain people, and Tony guessed they’d gotten sloppy about checking for Stone since he hadn’t been back from Europe in at least ten years. When he looked back, Bucky had his flesh-and-blood hand on the elevator door and both he and Steve were hovering just on the threshold.

“You guys can come in,” Tony said. “Please, actually, come in.”

They did, and Tony shucked his suit jacket and started loosening his tie as they continued to hover, Steve unsurely and Bucky with concern.

“Actually,” Tony said again, “you can only stay if you stop making those faces. Knock it off. Surprise asshole showed up and, y’know, surprised me. I’m not going to completely fall to pieces over it. Not twice anyway.”

He and Bucky shared a smile, more amused than pitying, and Tony decided to take what he could get tonight. Steve just made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I don’t know if this is something I should know about,” Steve started, “or something I can just Google, or—I don’t know. Who the fuck is Tiberius Stone?”

“Um.” Tony blinked. Steve obviously wasn’t upset at him, and it wasn’t even entirely surprising that he’d be upset by the events, but he seemed flustered and off balance and it screwed with the composure Tony was trying to exude. Normally, even when they were fighting, Steve was Tony’s partner in acting like shit was okay. “I sure as hell hope it’s not Googleable. I’ve actually put some time and effort into making it not Googleable. I mean, us, the whole Ty-and-Tony fiasco is everywhere on the internet I’m sure, but nothing more specific than pictures of us out at cafes in Paris or in being drunk idiots or going to Fashion Week.”

“The Ty-and-Tony Fiasco,” Bucky said, still smiling, and that was more like it. That was a good acting-like-shit’s-okay face. Having Bucky around really made everything fall into balance. Tony took a moment to appreciate the man. “Is that the official name for it?”

“Nah, just my personal one.”

“So,” Steve said, “what parts aren’t Googleable?”

Tony turned to give Steve an exasperated expression, and Steve just looked back calmly. The standoff lasted maybe half a minute before Steve’s patent brand of sincerity became too much.

“Isn’t that kind of obvious?” Tony said finally, feeling exhausted.

“If it was so obvious I wouldn’t be asking!” Steve didn’t throw his hands into the air, but he leaned forward like he wanted to. “Or I’d be able to ask Google at least.”

“Google it anyway,” Tony snapped. “I’m sure there are some solid theories there. Or, whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? That was, fuck—this was years ago.”

“Nobody’s gonna make you talk about it,” Bucky said, looking straight at Steve as he spoke. Tony deflated the tiniest bit.

“Damn fucking straight nobody’s going to make me do anything,” he said, and it came softer than he meant for it to. He swallowed and continued, “Not in my building, not on my floor, not in my kitchen, and not about this.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and he brought his voice down to match Tony’s. “You don’t—” He sighed. “I obviously wouldn’t make you tell me even if I could—”

“Then what’s googling it?” Tony asked, still with the same subdued tone. “You want my personal information without me giving it. You would.”

Steve opened his mouth, drew his eyebrows together, and closed his mouth again. The vein in his neck was sticking out.

“I—” Tony stopped himself and took a deep breath. He shouldn’t have said that, but he really wasn’t inclined to apologize for it either, not when it was true. “Whatever. Look, I just—Here’s the deal. I’m going to go take this suit off. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Is there still takeout in my fridge?”

“It’s not even spoiled yet, miracle of miracles.”

“Awesome, perfect. I’m gonna go change clothes and if someone has the Chinese heated up by the time I get back, we’ll talk. Got it?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. Steve nodded.

“J,” Tony said as he rounded the corner into the hallway. Steve could no doubt still hear him, and Bucky probably could too, but whatever, “give me locations and statuses on all Avengers, tell me what the weather’s doing, update me on whatever fungal growth Bruce has got going in the lab, just. Talk to me, baby.”

JARVIS talked. Clint had oiled U earlier because the man had developed a strange friendship with the bots, and Dum-E had made him some soup as a thank you (it was a new trick and he was very proud of himself for being given access to the necessary appliances and utensils needed for soup making). Bruce hadn’t even been in the lab for most of the night, but he’d meditated on the roof for approximately forty-three minutes. Phil had dropped off some paperwork for Tony to look over tomorrow, and Steve should probably take a look at it too.

By the time Tony entered his living room, he was calm, still tired, and wearing flannel pajama bottoms with a soft, navy-colored t-shirt.

“Thanks,” Tony said, eyes fixed on the container of lo mein steaming on the coffee table since he didn’t know which man had made it.

“Better?” Bucky asked from where he was sitting on the arm of one of the recliners.

“Sure,” Tony said, and he flopped onto the couch, legs criss-crossed so that his knee pressed against Steve’s thigh. He reached forward and took one of the containers, taking a minute to hold the warmth against his chest before shoving some into his mouth. “Help yourselves,” he said around the mouthful. Bucky just grinned, but Steve hesitantly picked up some pork and vegetables and started eating. Someone, presumably Bucky, had put a bottle of root beer in front of him, probably because it was caffeine free and late evening, and Tony rolled his eyes; he only had them on his floor because they were one of the better memories from his childhood, and soda just tastes better from a bottle. He drank it anyway.

“Ahh,” Tony said, legitimately feeling refreshed after washing some food down with a cold soda. “Okay. Tiberius Stone is—”

“Wait,” Steve said, hurriedly swallowing the food in his mouth.

“Do you wanna know or not, Rogers?” Tony asked. He honestly didn’t know whether to be amused or pissed.

“No!” Steve said. “I mean, of course I do, but…I wouldn’t force you to tell me something you didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Tony said, deciding on amused. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Do you?” he asked. “I didn’t even think about how googling it would be the same. I just—sorry.”

Tony shot Bucky a look. “Did you put him up to this?”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “He feels guilty all on his own this time.”

“Hm,” Tony said. “Sometimes I think having you around reminds him of what his mom or Aunt Peggy would say if they knew how he was acting sometimes.”

“Tony,” Steve said.

“Steve,” Tony said. Steve grunted and hunched in on himself, but he was smiling a little too. It was such an odd combination of body language that Tony paused.

“I just wanted to know how much I should hate this man,” he said and forcibly straightened himself again, squaring his shoulders. “I was thinking of it in terms of how I would never make you talk of something if it’s an upsetting topic for you, and I totally overlooked how it would be a breech of trust and privacy. I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“Okay,” Tony said, hanging onto just enough of that amusement to keep his heart rate steady and his hands relaxed. “I’m still kind of tense and whatever, and I didn’t really mean to say what I did about that, but I would appreciate it.”

Steve nodded.

“Just how much should we hate this man?” Bucky asked after a moment.

“Quite a bit?” Tony shrugged. “My perspective’s kind of skewed, but every time someone mentions Ty’s name Pepper actually goes red in the face.”

“She kinda sounded like it on the phone.”

“She despises him,” Tony agreed with a nod. “It was just really weird tonight, and I’m still kind of parsing out all the whys of that. I mean—I’ve run into him a couple of times since we broke up, but I’m usually pretty suave about the whole thing.”

“You really dated him?” Steve asked.

“That’s the Googleable part.” Steve looked slightly horrified. “Oh, please,” Tony rolled his eyes. “It was actually a pretty sound idea at the time. Our fathers had rivaling companies, neither of us particularly wanted to listen to our dad, and, y’know, at least we knew we weren’t sleeping with each other for the money or anything. Most people I slept with at that point in my life were sleeping with me to get something out of me.”

“That’s actually not idiotic,” Bucky said approvingly.

“Also not the strongest foundation for a relationship,” Tony said.

“Also true,” Bucky said. Tony smiled a little wistfully and took a minute to gather his thoughts.

“I haven’t seen him since Afghanistan, I guess. You wouldn’t think that would make a difference, but.” He shrugged. “I guess I just haven’t seen him since Obie tried to kill me.”

That wasn’t something he talked about. He knew that at least Steve knew about Stane, because Tony had left it in his S.H.I.E.L.D. file specifically so he wouldn’t ever have to tell his teammates about it, but he had no idea if Bucky knew or not. Steve shifted a little at Tony’s side but stopped very suddenly. Tony leaned against Steve and met Bucky’s eyes.

“I didn’t ever realize how fucked Ty and I had been, I guess. It’s a weird thing to realize so long after the fact, but.” It was hard to find the right way to phrase this. It was an undercurrent in so much of his life that it was hard to sum up when he’d spent such a long time denying it. “Obadiah’s the one that got me out of it, got me away from Ty. I think I didn’t quite understand why my relationship with Ty was so disturbing because Obie was just as manipulative, and I was under that particular thrall for years.”

Steve’s hand settled against Tony’s arm and Tony sank into it gladly, solid enough in the here and now to recognize it as the support it was. He was just grateful Steve wasn’t touching his shoulder right now. He let it ground him and made himself aware of the tower around him, the windows, Bucky and Steve, JARVIS. Bucky’s face was almost expressionless except for the slight frown and the pinch between his eyebrows. Tony shot him a smile.

“Like—I knew it wasn’t great, of course. We’d always been really sharp with one another, but he wasn’t entirely wrong when he said the competition made us better. More productive. I think Obie only decided to step in when it stopped being like that. I was drinking too much to make anything, and I wasn’t making it to public appearances anymore, so Obie was the hero who saved poor little me from my own choices.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. Tony suspected he just wanted to remind Tony of where he was.

“It is what it is.” He pressed himself closer to Steve just a bit and looked at the windows, hesitating. “I—um.”

“Tony?” Bucky asked, frowning again.

“I kind of—uh.” Tony closed his eyes. “I don’t want you guys to fix anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said immediately.

“We won’t do anything you don't want,” Bucky promised. The conviction in his voice made Tony’s heart surge with gratitude.

“I want to say something,” Tony realized, “but I don’t want you to get mad because, let’s be honest, it was a long-ass time ago and there’s really just no point to it anymore.”

“I can’t exactly promise not to get mad,” Steve said lightly, “but I guess I can agree not to storm off and find an appropriate face to punch.”

“My, my, Stevie,” Bucky said, “when did you get all mature?” Tony huffed out half a laugh and opened his eyes, looking back out the window. “We’ll keep a lid on it, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony said, and this time he really did. “I think Natasha might know already, but I’ve never really told anyone specifically, and I think that’s maybe something I should do? It’s just—the manipulation went into coercive territory sometimes…A lot of times, towards the end. I suspected for a couple months that I maybe should do something about the drinking, that maybe I should stop or get some help, but he’d get pissy if I didn’t drink too, because he didn’t like drinking alone or how it made him look if we were out and he was the only one drinking. And then—he just. We got into the fucking stupidest, most vicious fights if I didn’t want to have sex when he did, or if I wanted to have sex when he didn’t, and I just fucking. So I just.” He blew out a frustrated breath.

“I got you,” Steve said, and his other hand touched Tony’s knee. “Take a second.”

He did. He turned just far enough to rest his forehead against Steve’s arm and Steve slowly wrapped his arms around Tony, not tightly, but steadily. Support, not suffocation. Tony slumped just enough to let Steve’s arms hold him up, and then straightened. One of Steve’s hands fell away and the other settled against his back.

“Okay?” Bucky asked. Tony met his eyes and nodded.

“I had sex with him when I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to fight, God, I just—I don’t think. I don’t consider it rape, right? I said yes. But it wasn’t—I didn’t want to say yes, and that made it different, and. It got to the point where I could just feel his hands all the time. His lips. And then I didn’t wanna stop drinking anymore because it made those ghost touches stop if I drank enough. And I was kind of just like ‘yeah, okay’ because it wasn’t like I was planning on living past thirty anyway, Jesus—fuck. Fuck.”

Tony took a very deliberate shallow breath, just a small puff of air, and grabbed onto Steve’s dress pants.

“Right,” he said. “Yes, okay, sorry. Hi.”

“Hey,” Steve said softly. Quietly.

“Hellohihey,” Bucky sang with a grin as he started to move, telegraphing his intentions clearly.

“Stop letting Romanoff recommend music,” Tony said immediately. Bucky slid the takeout containers to the side on the coffee table and sat on the edge, arms on his knees and one index finger brushing Tony’s shin. He shrugged.

“She had it goin’ through the speakers in the gym. Kinda hard to ignore.”

“Devious,” Tony said. The breath he took this time was deeper and actually effective.

“He did that thing, all the time, y’know?” he said even though they didn’t, couldn’t. “I still feel that one sometimes, like other people think there’s a spider crawling on them I feel his hand on my shoulder. It, Ty and Obie both did that. Ty and Obie…Stone and Stane. Like they were holding me there, keeping me there, in place, and I hate that, I really, just really don’t—” Bucky was taking deep breaths not two feet in front of him and he broke off to join in for a few counts. Bucky’s thumb brushed against Tony’s knee approvingly. “I can’t stand it,” he said at last, sounding pretty steady.

There were a couple of minutes of silence then. Bucky stroked Tony’s knee idly and breathed deeply. Steve dug his fingers into Tony’s back and kneaded the pressure out.

“Okay,” Tony said at last. “Thanks.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, unleashing the full force of his earnestness. Bucky ran his fingernails over Tony’s knee and pulled his hand away.

“Anytime,” he replied drowsily. “Man, this is fucked.”

“Are you alright?” Steve asked. Bucky got the look on his face then that he usually only got when Steve was being particularly bad about hovering. Tony wanted to say that it was okay, that he kind of needed Steve there as a shield against the world right now, but he also didn’t want to say that with Steve sitting right up alongside him.

“I can accidentally stay up thirty-six hours in the workshop,” he said, “but an emotional conversation? Forget it. I’m pooped.”

Bucky smiled, but still looked a little tight around the eyes.

“I know the feeling,” he said. “You want us to give you some room?”

“I,” Tony blinked. Damn the bastard for phrasing it like that. It was actually a very nice question to be asked, but damn him anyway. “Not really? Um.”

“What do you want?” Steve asked gently, his hand snaking up just enough to brush against Tony’s neck. The question wasn’t loaded or sarcastic. Steve actually wanted to know what Tony wanted, and he wanted to help give it to Tony. It was kind of overwhelming.

“Either of you up for a sleepover?” he asked. “I just mean, I don’t really want to lay alone in my bed right now, and some company might be nice.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “if you want. I don’t know about me and Steve, but we could probably braid your hair. Damn, have you guys even had a sleepover in this century yet? God, I’m a terrible host, we’re going to rectify this right away.”

“Okay,” Steve said, laughter clear in his voice. “How do we have a proper sleepover?”

“Well, Steven,” Tony said, grinning for real now, “I’m glad you asked. What’s the next movie on that list of yours?”

“Um,” Steve said. “It’s down on my floor, I think.”

“Well, we need that. J? Start some popcorn, would you?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Wonderful. Now, both of you—shoo. Pajamas, now. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an engineer build a pillow fort. Prepare to have your socks knocked into oblivion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brings it to an end. Hope you liked it! For requests, send me a message here or at batterology.tumblr.com/ask.
> 
> Thank you for reading<3


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